


you never have to wonder, you never have to ask

by birdbox (Bella_Barbaric)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Cliche, Coffee Shops, F/M, Fluff, One Shot, but kind of an epic one shot esp. by my standards, it's terribly fluffy and basically has no plot but what can you do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 08:22:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1219258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bella_Barbaric/pseuds/birdbox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Really? This is your brilliant marketing idea?” Emma kicked the newly erected platform lightly with the toe of her boot, mustering up all the incredulity she could to stare at her boss, Regina. “Live music? Here?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	you never have to wonder, you never have to ask

**Author's Note:**

> This has been a labour of love, problem child fic on my hard drive since November last year and since today (22/02) is my birthday, I thought 'why not?' 
> 
> Shamelessly inspired by Colin O'Liferuiner's performance in [this video](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RQtQvpgzJiA), I had to write a clichéd AU to go with it. And regretfully, I couldn't find a place for Henry in this story so I made him into a coffee shop instead. 
> 
> Enjoy

“Really? _This_ is your brilliant marketing idea?” Emma kicked the newly erected platform lightly with the toe of her boot, mustering up all the incredulity she could to stare at her boss, Regina. “Live music? Here?”

“It's been done before, Miss Swan. It's worked for other businesses like ours. I don't know why you're having such a hard time with this,” Regina says with her trade-marked droll _I-don't-have-time-for-this-conversation-or_ _-for-you_ voice.

“Regina, we just don't need it. Our customers like us the way we are, without music blasting over all corners of the café! People come in here with friends and family and dates to chat and have coffee and the best piece of cake they're ever gonna taste in their lives, even though I do say so myself. If they wanted music they'd go to a concert.”

Regina folds her arms and rolls her eyes, walking back to the counter with a click clack of her Christian Louboutins (where she got the money for all her designer garb Emma had no idea—the coffee shop did well, but not that well) “Honestly, I was only telling you out of courtesy, the musician is coming in shortly for an interview of sorts. And that's because, luckily, Miss Swan, I don't need your opinion or approval on this matter considering I'm the manager and you're only the assistant manager.”

“Assistant manager _and_ resident baker!” Emma calls in irritation, trying not to sound petulant. She knows there is nothing Regina likes more than to pull rank. They've been business partners for the best part of a decade now; but despite this, ninety per cent of the time, she and Regina quite genuinely dislike each other. Emma never would have believed it if Henry's hadn't worked out so well for them both, but it turns out you don't actually have to like someone to be able to be a really great team in a business setting. There's an amount of grudging admiration on both sides for the other and they do give and take in equal amounts when it comes to Henry's. Except, apparently, on matter of live music.

Emma tightens the straps of her apron aggressively and heads back into the kitchen to rage beat out some lemon drizzle cupcakes.

**-X-**

 

“I'm telling you, Regina, this is a bad idea,” Emma says later, mouth around the last bite of her sandwich.

It's the daily lull in sales after the lunch time rush, so Emma's leaning against the counter eating her own meal while Regina wipes down a surface distractedly with disinfectant. Usually Regina isn't much one for getting her hands dirty, preferring to deal with the accounts and monetary side of Henry's, but their waitress Ruby has her day off so she mucks in to stop Emma going crazy trying to keep up with orders and cooking hot meals. Regina says this is to prevent bad customer experiences of waiting and get people to come back, but Emma likes -optimistically- to think Regina actually wants to help out Emma every now and again. Well, when a kindly mood strikes the Queen of Evil. Which is, you know, rarely.

“So you keep telling me.” Emma gives her a look, which in the short hand they've developed in the face of extreme irritation with each other over a decade means _'Take my opinion seriously'._ Regina sighs, relenting somewhat. “Look, I have it on good authority that this guy's good. If he's not, we get rid of him right away, no harm done. I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't think it would be good thing.”

Despite herself, Emma has to concede at least on her last point. Regina is scary good at knowing what customers actually want, other than comfortable chairs and good food. “I just don't think customers really want some desperate, fame-hungry, second rate musician whining away at them while they're trying to relax and eat, you know?”

If Emma hadn't been so preoccupied with thoughts of a balding middle-aged man attempting to croon a Sinatra tune over the sound system while their customers recoiled in discomfort, she may have noticed Regina's attention be caught by something over Emma's shoulder. A man coughs pointedly behind her.

“Second rate musician reporting for duty,” an English accent says. Emma closes her eyes, hoping the linoleum might just swallow her up if she wished for it hard enough. It doesn't, so instead she plasters a smile of serenity on her face and turns around, not missing the look of veiled but absolute schadenfreude-induced joy on Regina's face.

The man is not a balding, middle-aged man as she feared. There is, in actual fact, no other way to put it other than to say the man is _disgustingly_ attractive. He's tall and lean with a thick mop of dark hair, forget-me-not blue eyes and the perfect amount of stubble that Emma imagines feels much like worn velvet. But maybe that last one is an inappropriate thought to have around someone's only just met (and, well, accidentally insulted.) The man looks at her face a bit too closely for a second, before smiling at both of them. “Killian Jones.” He glances back at Emma. “Charmed I'm sure.”

Regina steps in then, either to stop the man leaving because of Emma's unintentional snub or to save Emma from further embarrassment. More likely the former. “Regina Mills, Proprietor. Pleasure to meet you, Mr Jones.” She shook his hand over the counter and then walked around to join him.

“Killian, please.”

“Of course, step this way, Killian,” Regina says, walking purposely to one of the tables by the window for what Emma assumes will be the 'interview'. The man, Killian, has a guitar in a black fabric case slung on his back, looking for all the world like one of those 'deep', self-professed indie guys who played 'Wonderwall' at every given opportunity whether people wanted to hear it or not. Maybe it's a good thing Regina's conducting the interview and not her. Killian gives her another -thankfully more curious than offended- look, smiling a little, before following Regina over.

**-X-**

 

Regina comes back over after half an hour, looking satisfied with however the interview went. “He's going to set up and perform, so we can reject him now if needs be,” Regina tells her. Emma knows Regina will have no qualms in telling him her honest opinion if he was terrible, hell she'd probably quite enjoy it. Emma nods, slightly gratified.

“You know,” Emma says after a pause. “You could have told me he was standing behind me.”

“And why would I have done that?” Regina asks while she walks away smirking. Emma really should have seen that coming—the less-than-shocking return of the Evil Queen.

For a minute, Emma just watches Killian through the servery hatch in the kitchen. He's sat on a chair on the platform, absently plucking away at the guitar and turning the tuning pegs just slightly. He seems to know what he's doing. Eventually though, her curiosity does get the better of her and she sidles over to him, trying to make it seem casual and more than likely failing miserably. His guitar is either almost new or so well-looked after that it just looks it and it isn't festooned with various random stickers, just the one. It's a white circle with a strange black shape on it that Emma can't quite work out.

Killian looks up from his guitar and raises an eyebrow at her. He has the type of eyebrows that seem to exist as an independent entity to the rest of his body, Emma notes absently. “Um, I'm Emma Swan, by the way. Assistant manager and chef _-_ slash _-_ baker,” Emma says. It'd be unprofessional not to introduce herself.

He nods, the hints of a teasing smirk turning up his lips and Emma has his type pegged instantly. The charming flirter who couldn't and shouldn't be trusted—not unlike some of guys Emma's dated in the past.“Yes, Ms Mills did inform me.”

Emma nods, looking down awkwardly. Maybe she shouldn't have started this conversation. “Well, good luck with the performance then.”

She turns to leave but his voice stops her. “Won't you stay and watch?” he asks with a smile in his voice. Emma twists her head around—Killian is sporting some version of puppy dog eyes and cocking his head at her. “I had wanted to prove myself to you.”

There's a surprising amount of sincerity in his voice, despite the laced flirtation in his eyes. Emma wants to say its Regina he needs to impress really but she knows it's about her 'second-rate musician' comment more than anything else.“I have to go back to work. Sandwiches don't make themselves.” She shrugs, careful to be casual and non-committal. “I'll be able to hear if you're any good from the kitchen anyway.”

“Right you are.” Emma's beginning to think his natural expression is a slightly mocking smile.

Turning on her heel, she walked back into the kitchen and tried to focus on the task at hand. Sandwiches. She washes her hands and flutters around the kitchen, distractedly pulling utensils and ingredients (some of which she only realized later that she didn't even need) from the fridge and hooks and pretending her ears weren't straining out for his voice. Maybe the self-confidence the guy seems to exude is rubbing off on her because she's expecting him to be good now despite herself. _He might be an anti-climax_ , she thinks to herself while she butters a slice of home made bread, _but then again he might not_. Already fed up of her internal back-and-forth over a guy she met not an hour ago, she instead focuses solely on her own actions: pressing the knife into the tomato, separating the slices of ham, pressing the lettuce lightly into the bread.

At first, his soft, smooth voice becomes almost like ambient music, she barely even notices it because of her single minded focus but it relaxes her unconsciously. It's only after a minute, when she realises she's swaying slightly to the rhythm, that she realises first, that he's started singing at all and second, how fucking amazing he is at it. Her knife clatters to the chopping board in pure shock. _Jesus._ His voice sounds like heaven, like hot chocolate with cinnamon. Her feet take her over the kitchen door before she even takes stock of what she's doing and she leans against the door frame to watch him, trying to keep the look of awe from her face because she gets the feeling he doesn't need his ego stroked any more. _Good looks and talent_ , she thinks darkly, _some people get all the luck_.

Killian notices her there almost immediately, like he was looking out for her, and seems pleased. He discreetly grins into the lyrics, keeping his eyes on her for a while as he sings the unfamiliar but beautifully written song. Emma isn't the only one who's impressed either. Even Regina, who has a policy of not being impressed by anything ever, has her arms uncrossed and plucked eyebrows raised in surprise. The few customers they have in are rapt to attention too. His deft fingers pluck the strings expertly in a way that must have taken years to perfect, and the result is almost hypnotic. Emma's never seen anything like it. The spell breaks only a few seconds after he plays the final note.

Killian looks straight at her when he finishes, one corner of his mouth turning up. Emma looks away, attempting to keep her face smooth although they both know she's impressed. Instead she goes back into the kitchen and collects her thoughts. After a little hesitation, Emma puts a fresh chocolate cupcake on a plate and pours a glass of water out. Regina is shaking Killian's hand firmly, looking as pleased as she ever does, typically when one of her ideas works out in her favour. Emma waits until Regina walks away, shooting her an _I_ _-_ _told_ _-_ _you_ _-_ _so_ look that means Emma's probably not going to hear the end of this for a while,  and then walks over herself. She doesn't need to make up for her prejudgement of him; she's right to be cautious of changes affecting her business and it was simply unlucky he had to walk in at the most inopportune moment to hear her—she knows this, but she wants to anyway.

"I may not be able to hold a tune but I can bake the best damn cupcake you're ever gonna eat in your life," Emma says, making him look up from zipping up his guitar bag. She holds out the plate and the glass to him. "On the house."  
  
"Thanks," he says, surprised and touched. He takes a long gulp of water and leaves it on the table next to him. "So... verdict?"  
  
He seems genuinely interested to know, although she's sure he's fishing for compliments a little too. Emma smiles a little and shrugs as casually as she dares. "Not bad. I've heard worse."  
  
"'Not bad' eh?" he repeats thoughtfully, testing the words out with a smirk. "I get the impression that's high praise coming from you. And, since I was 'second rate' before I came in, it's definitely an improvement. How long do you suppose it'll take before I get to 'passable'?"

"Well, we'll just have to wait and see, won't we?" Emma intones. On the face of it, her words were not supposed to come out so flirtatiously but somehow mutate on the journey between her brain and her mouth. It's shockingly easy to flirt with this man she barely knows. Worryingly easy. Probably something to do with those eyes.

He pulls his bottom lip into his mouth and arches his eyebrows at her. "That we will." Emma looks down, pink tingeing her cheeks, while Killian picks up his cupcake and bites down. His eyes widen. "Jesus, this is good!"  
  
Emma smiles smugly in response: oh, she _knows_. There aren't many things she considers herself to be good at, however baking is one of them. He finishes the whole thing in another bite and Emma is treated to the sight of him sucking the chocolate butter cream off the ends of his graceful guitar player's fingers. Emma has only known him for about an hour and a half but she's still pretty sure this is one of the only times in his life he is absolutely oblivious to how seductive he looks.

  
-X-

 

The live music idea works. Or rather... the Killian Jones idea works. It shouldn't, rationally speaking, but it _really_ does.

He comes in once a week, on Thursdays, for a couple of hours. It shouldn't work but Emma witnesses first hand the up-swing in customers while he's here. Regina leaves the door ajar so his voice can drift out onto the street, drawing people in. Sometimes they're not even quite cognizant of the fact that it's the music bringing them in, only when they cross the threshold do they look up at Killian strumming away and say to their companions, _Oh, he's not half bad, is he?_ They order a coffee, or maybe a snack if it's close to lunch time, stay for a song or two then leave.

Ruby has a theory it's also a little to do with Killian being so... well, easy on the eyes. “I'm telling you: they come in for the hottie, they stay for the good music and fine cuisine,” she says conspiratorially to Emma. Emma couldn't possibly comment.

By virtue of him being there for regularly allotted times each week, Emma's getting to know him too. He's still an enigma in a lot of ways, but then Emma's been told many a time that she isn't the easiest person to get to know either so she can hardly blame him there. Killian seems to want to get to know her, too. When they speak, she can feel he's listening as opposed to waiting for his turn to speak like a lot of people—it's unfamiliar, but nice. She, despite what Regina and Ruby might think, does not start taking her break mid-morning when she knows he's taking a break too so she can go and talk to him, pretending to wipe down tables. It's a coincidence, pure and simple.

“I don't wanna pry so tell me to shut up if you want,” Emma says one such Thursday, sitting on one of the tables and watching him taking a long gulp from his water bottle. “But how do you actually make this pay?”

While they pay him a fair wage, he does only come in once a week. Not enough to sustain him, surely. Emma will freely confess to knowing nothing about the music industry but if anyone has the talent to go professional it's him. Maybe she wants to keep him around (the reasons for which she doesn't look into to too deeply) but she has to admit he's better than playing a few songs in a coffee shop once a week.“I'm lucky that I don't have to,” he says. “This is more a hobby than anything else. Of a night, I bar tend at Once Upon a Time. That's my 'proper' job.”

“Really?” Emma knows the owners of Once nightclub fairly well, Mary Margaret and her husband David. They're the most sickeningly adorable couple Emma's ever come across, good people and good friends of Emma's, although Mary Margaret and Regina have a long standing grudge that nobody's really sure of the origins of. She can't speak for Mary Margaret, but Emma's pretty sure Regina's even forgotten what the root cause of the disagreement was—Regina does have a way of hating people out of sheer force of habit. “You must work some horrible hours doing that.”

He nods, running a hand through his hair. “It's mainly 10.30 to 4 AM shifts, yeah. But I don't mind. It pays the bills and I do enjoy it-- most of the time.”

“I can't imagine your other half enjoys it,” Emma muses, feigning calculated disinterest in how he responds to this.

It doesn't work. Killian seems to see right through it and smirks at her cautious needling. “I imagine they wouldn't. If I had one.”

At this point, Emma doesn't feel like there's much point trying to hide her satisfaction but she does make an excuse to leave nonetheless, slipping down off the table. This conversation is getting out of hand. “I should go back to work.”

“Of course,” he murmurs, his eyes dancing. On her way to the counter, she makes sure to only look. back at him once. He's still staring after her, and his smile widens when their eyes meet.

-X-

 

The servery hatch, although she rarely uses it for its intended purpose, is so placed that Emma can see out over the whole shop when she's cooking. The hustle and bustle of customers coming in and out relaxes her, and provides the perfect background noise when she needs to making a lot of lunches or sandwiches or pastries or whatever the Boston public want. She and Regina have recently branched out into catering for events, on a trial basis, so this morning she's incredibly busy making food for a wedding on Saturday. Truthfully, Emma hasn't quite worked up the courage to try a full wedding cake yet and she doesn't want to fuck things up for Ariel and Eric because they're lovely and they've been so patient with the fact that Emma's still feeling her way around baking for events, so she recommends them a friend of hers to do the cake for them but she's doing pretty much everything else.

It's Thursday and Killian's here but she's so damn busy she can't justify taking a break to go and talk to him like she usually does. Regina has since invested in a microphone to connect to their speakers for when he comes in which is great, although if Emma's honest, it's a distraction she could do without—especially right now. He sings so close to almost like he's making love to it and him making love is a train of thought she really needs to shut down if she's ever going to get this catering done. Killian gives her a few reassuring glances while he sings, noting how flustered she is.

They have a freelance chef who they call when things get really swamped, Belle, so she's currently doing the café orders and helping Emma where she can while Emma darts around the kitchen trying not to think about how behind she is. Belle thankfully has the patience of a saint so she doesn't mind that Emma's bumping into her all the time and chanting “shit, shit shit” like a mantra. Before she knows it, it's half one in the afternoon and she's been cooking non-stop for five and a half hours. Belle is solely focused on the lunch time order rush, and apologises constantly that she can't do anything to help which Emma brushes off, but internally curses the customers and silently begs them to leave because Jesus Christ, she's about to scream the place down. Killian pokes his head into the kitchen, ostensibly about to leave, “I'll be off then...-are you all right, love?”

Emma must look as off the rails as she feels; sweaty faced, flour-coated, her messily scraped back hair falling out of its tie. She nods vigorously while she beats the cake batter. “I'm wonderful! Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful!” Her voice is high-pitched and breathless.

“I can see that,” Killian says wryly. He lingers there for a moment longer, before shifting his guitar bag off his shoulder and propping it up to the door frame. Emma watches him confused while he takes his leather jacket off and hangs it on one of the apron pegs.

“Hey er, what what- are you doing?” Emma asks.

Pulling an apron off a peg and looping the strap over his head, he grins. “I'm your new assistant, my lady. I might be more of a musician than a chef but I'm a quick learner. What can I do to help?”

“No, Killian, I can't ask you to do that,” Emma begins to protest weakly although an offer of help sounds so tempting right now and he's already tied his apron, rolled up his plaid shirt sleeves and is washing his hands in the sink.

Killian shakes his hands free of the water and heads back over to her. “No, you can't ask but fortuitously for you, I offered, so you're off the hook. What do you want me to do?”

Behind his shoulder, Belle looks up from the cheese and ham panini she's making to give Emma a _let-him-help-you're-swamped-and-you-know it_ look. Emma relents and hands him the big bowl cake batter bowl she was working on. “I'm making wedding cake favours,” she explains. “They're going to be tiny versions of the actual wedding cake in little boxes for the guests to take home—it's a small wedding so there's about fifty guests and I want to hand make them. Have you made cakes before?”

“Not since I was a child,” he says.

“Well, I need you to beat this batter so the ingredients are one consistency- like pound it, you know?”

Killian nods. “I have experience of pounding,” he says straight-faced apart from one eyebrow arching suggestively.

Emma bursts out laughing when she gets it. She's learnt that one of Killian Jones' special talents is seeing the innuendo in literally everything. “Urgh, that's- that's terrible, even for you,” she tells him.

“Yeah, it wasn't my best,” he concedes, shrugging. “But it made you smile.”

Emma shifts under his gaze, a warm fuzzy feeling flooding through her. She shakes her head free of it and tries to put aside the soft look he just gave her and gets to work on more batter. They work next to each other all afternoon, with Belle pitching in where she can; once he proves his mettle at 'pounding' the mixture, Emma shows him the method for making vanilla syrup cake batter and between them they eventually get enough of the stuff in the huge industrial oven for fifty mini three-tier cakes. Once the last batch goes in and the oven is ceremonially turned on, they high-five enthusiastically with floury hands that creates a cloud between them, then watch their babies in the oven affectionately for a while.

“I'll get them out later and ice them tomorrow once they've cooled,” she says to him as they wash their hands. “Um, thank you for helping me. I really, really appreciate it.”

“You're very welcome, love. I enjoyed it. I have the recipe for vanilla syrup cake batter ingrained in my memory.”

Emma chuckles as they go back into the café and stand behind the counter together. “I know that feeling. You'll be dreaming about baking tonight.”

“Hmm.” He pulls his jacket on and lifts his guitar bag back onto his shoulder. It's only just gone five but because it's winter the sun is already going down outside, casting his face in an orange glow. Emma notices while he stares absently out the bay windows that he has a small scar on his right cheek. Emma wants to know how he got it. The errant thought of asking him out for a drink pops into her mind, just casually, as friends of course. She wouldn't presume anything more, not unless something, you know... happened. Which it might. Or might not. Whatever. And there's a bar she likes just around the corner from here. She could do it, she could ask him out.

The words are on her tongue but--“Well, good luck with the wedding stuff,” he says, from which Emma gets the implication he's looking to go home.

Emma remembers he's probably not looking for an invitation for drinks, and that he's probably exhausted from either singing and baking all day. It would have been stupid to go out for drinks with him anyway. She's exhausted as well, the last thing she needed was to wake up with a hangover tomorrow morning. Plus, she couldn't leave Ruby and Belle on their own an hour before closing time. That would be really unprofessional and Regina would kill her when she came back from the suppliers meeting tomorrow.

He lingers a second too long, looking at her face, and suddenly reaches a hand up to wipe a bit of flour from her cheek with his thumb. Emma hardly breathes. He leans in, staring into her eyes and for a mad, scary, _wonderful_ second, she thinks he's going to kiss her. “See you next week, Swan,” he whispers, before pulling away and smiling genially, leaving Emma to wonder if she imagined the last five seconds of her life. Killian leaves, the bell on the door tinkling behind him.

Emma heaves a heavy breath out, trying regain some semblance of having her shit together. Oh, this is so fucking _inconvenient_.

 

-X-

“Trying to impress our favourite musician, are we?” Regina says, a week later as Emma gets down the stairs from her flat. So what if Emma's curled her blonde hair for a change and is wearing a skirt for pretty much the first time since Mary Margaret and David's wedding about six months ago? And so what if she wants to impress him? She's single, he's single, she's allowed to have feelings, it's a free country.

“Putting 'are we?' after a neutral statement to make it seem dismissive, _are we_?” Emma snaps. Maybe not her best come back but it works, Regina rolls her eyes and walks off to terrorise small children or whatever it is she does when she's not scheming to make Henry's the most popular coffee shop in Boston.

Emma sets about preparing Henry's for opening. She likes this part of her day because it's methodical and never changes from day to day. Switch on the cash register and get the float money from the safe to fill it; wipe down the tables, counter and the surfaces in the kitchen; prepare the grill for breakfast orders and make a few sandwiches to last them until mid morning. When she finishes, she eats her own breakfast and watches the early morning sun illuminate the fruits of ten years of hard graft and elbow grease. Emma loves Henry's like it's her child and she's pretty sure Regina feels the same way—although their 'parenting' styles are very different, they ultimately both want the best for this place.

They open at half eight and there's a steady dribble of customers until around ten, mainly regulars most of whom Emma's long since memorised the names and usual orders of. Leroy had his strong black coffee and bacon roll, Aurora had green tea and strawberry jam on two rounds of toast; Mr Gold had a Scottish breakfast tea (which they ordered in for him) and nothing else. Emma takes a fair amount of pride in knowing her regulars' usuals; she doesn't talk more than a few words to them most of the time but she thinks they appreciate her knowing their names and orders off the top of her head.

Her phone buzzes against her thigh. A little rush flows through her when she see who it is. When he gave her his number 'for emergencies', the thought of putting a little heart after it popped unbidden into her mind before she batted it away.

_sorry swan—can't make it today, not feeling well. apologise to regina for me. try not to miss me too much x_

That killed her rush a little bit. Okay... a lot. Selfishly, she's a little disappointed she won't see him but rationally and obviously, his health is more important. Emma tells Regina like he asked and then gets on with the rest of her day. It's quieter in more ways than one now he's not here and she overhears a few Thursday regulars wonder where he is wistfully. It's funny and strange that he's become part of the fabric of this place in such a short time; he'd taken over their Thursdays and made everyone miss his presence. Despite this, Ruby takes a little longer to catch on that he's not there. Emma explains he's ill.

“So that's why you've been looking like a kicked puppy all day.”

“Excuse me?” Emma says, offended. Emma Swan does look like a 'kicked puppy' over the absence of Killian Jones. That's just insulting.

Ruby gasps, grins and grips Emma's shoulders. “You should go see him!”

Emma looks blankly at her. “What.”

“Go and see him!” Ruby enthuses again. “Take some soup to make him feel better—you know he wants to see you!”

There's a large part of Emma that wants to ask what Ruby meant by that last comment, whether she thinks he _likes her_ likes her or whether he just likes her but she gets a hold of herself before she can regress to teenager-hood. “I- I can't do that. I don't even know where he lives.”

“Emma, he's practically an employee, we have his address on file.”

There is no way Emma's going to let Ruby convince her into turning up at his house. No way. “That's just weird. Besides, I have to work.”

“I'll cover for you,” Ruby whispers excitedly, sneaking a look at Regina. “And it's not weird-- you're just a concerned friend doing something nice!”

“No.” Emma says finally. “No, I can't. I won't.”

-X-

 

Twenty minutes later, Emma is standing outside an apartment block, checking the slip of paper Ruby scrawled Killian's address on and wondering just how she got here. She has a plastic bowl with a lid in her hands that's filled with steaming hot chicken soup and a small box that has his favourite chocolate butter cream cupcake in. Emma almost leaves, second-guessing herself whether this is a good idea, whether he even wants to see her. She turns to leave on the way to his door at least fifteen times before she finally knocks, feeling like a prize idiot.

It takes a two knocks and a good few minutes before the door swings open. Killian does look like shit, but because he's so attractive even when he looks like shit he still looks good. His hair is a mess, he's pale, drawn and clearly hasn't trimmed his scruff in a few days. Emma realises with a slight start that he's shirtless under the enormous duvet he's wrapped around himself. He squints at her, his eyes slightly bloodshot. “Emma?”

“I'm sorry,” she says immediately. _This was a bad idea, poor guy probably just wants to get some sleep_ , Emma thinks, kicking herself. “I hope I didn't wake you.”

“No, no, not at all. I'm just- what are you doing here?” His voice is rougher than usual.

“I-I thought you could a pick-me-up—soup!” She gestures to the bowl.

He smiles faintly, running a hand through sweaty hair. “Emma, you're an angel and don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise.” Emma feels her cheeks heat up. He opens the door wider and gestures for her to come in. His apartment is a fairly small oblong with a double bed at the far end in front of two large windows. There's a couple of leather sofas in front of the TV and a door leads into a little kitchenette and dining room. It's cluttered as opposed to messy, full of little trinkets, and he has three guitars on stands next to the sofas; Emma can tell that two are acoustic and one is electric but beyond that she had no idea what the difference between them is.

Killian gets back on the bed, draping the duvet back over himself and propping his head up on the leather headboard. “I'm sorry I can't be a better host but my head is _aching_. Make yourself comfortable.”

“Don't worry about it.” Emma's the one who barged in on him after all. She wanders into the kitchen which is similarly disorganised and she can't help but rolls her eyes at the takeaway cartons piled next to the bin. On a whim, she takes a piece of paper from a stray notebook and leaves a quick note for him with the cupcake box in the fridge: _For when you're feeling better- E x_ (it takes her a little while to decide whether to leave the kiss at the end, but he put one on his text so she rationalises they've reached that point in their relationship.) She smiles, and heads back out to him with a spoon in the bowl of soup. “Here,” she says, handing him the bowl.

“Thank you,” he says and although his delivery is slightly marred by a coughing fit he launches into, Emma can still hear the sincerity. She goes back into the kitchen and fetches him a glass of water which nods gratefully for.

“I should really let you rest,” Emma says, heading towards the door.

Killian coughs and hacks, “Wait!” Emma stops. “Can't you stay- for a while?”

Emma looks at the clock on the wall, she shouldn't really—Ruby can only cover for her for so long. Even though it's past lunch time rush and she left enough food to get through the afternoon and Ruby can do the basic hot stuff most people want, it's pretty unprofessional to walk out on her own business for a whole afternoon.

“I haven't spoken to anyone since yesterday morning when I called David to say I couldn't make it in, it'd be nice to have some company,” Killian says. “And I'm tired but not enough to go to sleep.”

Emma arcs an eyebrow. “So what you're saying is, talking to me will tire you out enough to go to sleep?”

“Yes,” he says, then realises what he said as Emma laughs. “Wait, no! That's not what I meant!”

Emma is sufficiently endeared by his awkward backtracking and complete lack of physical togetherness that she relents. “Ten minutes. I've got ten minutes.” Killian smiles like the sun, and even ill he looks angelic. “Now eat.”

There isn't anywhere for her to sit that facilitates easy conversation so she sits gingerly on the end of his bed. He still isn't wearing a shirt but Emma tries not to notice the dusting of chest leading down into the waistband of his sweats. It feels weird being here with him because it's so out of context since she's only ever seen him in Henry's. Now she's -technically speaking- in bed with him. And that's a train of thought she really shouldn't be indulging.

“This is really delicious,” Killian says of the soup and Emma's grateful for the distraction. “Who taught you to cook and bake and everything?”

“One of my early foster moms introduced me to it when I was about five or six, I used to help her out making cakes and things—but then she and her husband had a child of their own and they couldn't afford to keep me so I went back in the system and I didn't pick it up again till I was in juvie.”

Killian looks as surprised as everyone else does when they find out she was in juvenile detention as a teenager. “Juvie?”

Emma waves her hand while she gives him the practised speech about her experience with the criminal justice system. “Um, my boyfriend at the time fitted me up for a crime I didn't commit and split—no one was ever able to find him and it was my unsubstantiated word against $20,000 worth of stolen watches. My state attorney made a plea bargain for a reduced sentence and I never heard from the boyfriend again.”

“Jesus, what a bastard,” Killian says, and Emma's a little shocked at the intensity in his voice, like he really hated this guy he never met.

Emma hums in vague agreement—hindsight is 20/20 and she doesn't like to dwell on Neal. Anyway, she stands by every mistake she's ever made. “I made my peace with it. Anyway, I took all these like, vocational cookery and baking courses while I was there and worked in the kitchens to get brownie points for good behaviour till I could get out. I met Regina not long after I was released and she needed a business partner and was willing to take a chance on a young reformed con of a cook, mostly out of desperation but ten years later she's not gotten rid of me.”

“Yet,” Killian teases.

“Yet,” Emma agrees with a laugh. He's slurping his soup like a five-year-old and grins at her. Emma tries not to attribute it to her cooking that he looks a little healthier.

It's pleasant and unusual that he doesn't seem fazed by anything she told him. Emma's developed a practised technique of explaining her past to people. Even though she can't lie and tell people it was all her fault (because it wasn't), she does maximise the remorse and reformed offender persona in her tone and words because in her experience, people won't accept criminal pasts unless the 'criminal' is the very picture of rehabilitated and ready-to-participate-in-society. Even then, Emma can generally read the judgemental looks-- the 'well you got yourself into that mess' steeling of eyes where Emma gets no mitigation for the fact that she was young and in love and naïve.

Killian just accepted it and he doesn't look at her any differently for it. It's... nice.

Eventually Killian gets done with the soup and slips down in the bed, satisfied. “Thank you, Emma. You're wonderful, you know that?”

“Yep.” She pops the 'P'.

Emma takes the bowl off him and walks back to the kitchen to rinse it out. It may be the clean-worktop-obsessed chef in her but she can't help but tidy things up in his kitchen, pushing the takeaway containers down into the bin and tying off the top of it, resolving to drop in in the bins on her way out. Emma pours a hot sink of soapy water and dumps a small mountain of his dishes and cutlery into it so they might get clean some time this year, jabbering away to him mindlessly about the importance of cleanliness. Forcibly stopping herself from breaking out his small supply of cleaning products, Emma wraps her coat around herself again and walks out, still talking. She stops when she sees Killian, fast asleep and burrowed into the duvet.

Smiling, she switches the light off and quietly clicks the door shut behind her.

 

-X-

 

“One question, Swan,” Killian says breathlessly into the shell of her ear. “Why on earth are we at Henry's?”

As if to punctuate his question, they stumbled backwards into a table, knocking it slightly out of place and bashing the back of Emma's thigh against it in a way that's sure to bruise. Emma's not that bothered, because his hands are pulling her closer and his lips... Jesus, his lips are pressing into the hollow where her jaw meets her neck and it's hard to process any logical thought. She scrambles up to sit on the table on the table and he stands between her legs, carding his elegant guitar player's fingers through her hair.

“Um, I sort of live in the flat upstairs.”

For a minute, Killian doesn't react. He angles her face up to kiss her but stops half a centimetre from her lips to chuckle. “Talk about taking your work home with you—or should that be taking your home to work with you?”

Emma rolls her eyes and hits him lightly in the chest, he snatches her hand and kisses it. “Shut up. It's practical.” Regina takes the rent and utilities out of her salary, and Emma can be there if something happens over night. Makes perfect sense.

Killian nods sagely, smiles then leans in to kisses her again.

It would be a fair assessment to say she hadn't envisioned her day ending like this.

\---

_earlier_

It was a Thursday, and Killian had recovered from his illness enough to come in and Emma had decided: today was the day. She was going to stop dancing around him and ask him out if it freaking killed her. This was not some epic, fantasy, fairytale love story where they had to be separated hundreds of time before they did anything about this, and this wasn't some ridiculous TV 'will they, won't they' scenario. Unless, Emma had completely misread all the signals he's been giving off-- they _will_.

Of course, this iron resolve crumbled to dust when he sauntered in, guitar bag slung over his shoulder, giving her a big smile through the servery hatch. This was how Emma spent the rest of the morning, stealing glances and wrestling with herself. Her concentration suffered and she sliced her finger instead of a tomato. This is when Regina noticed, and Emma would have been touched at the Evil Queen's apparent concern for her safety had she not taken it upon herself to ask him out for her.

“Jesus, Emma, is he really worth bleeding for?” Regina had said, throwing the first aid kit at her and almost hitting her on head (which would have been disgustingly ironic). Regina huffed out a breath, making a mental decision then strides out of the kitchen. Emma watched her tensely from the kitchen door, she always feared when Regina got an idea in her head.

“Killian,” Regina addressed him in her regal style. She pointed at Emma and Emma panicked. “Emma Swan would like to go on a date with you, would you like to go on a date with her?”

Emma was torn between making a run for it, BLT sandwich and waiting customer be damned, and marching over and punching Regina in her smug face. Killian looked at her, a surprised grin lighting up his features and Emma was caught wide-eyed like a deer in the headlights.

Killian holds her gaze for a few seconds. “Yeah,” he said. “I would.” Emma was too in shock at the turn of events to react. It registered with her that when brain function returns she's going to be delighted.

“Great!” Regina said, pumping her fists in mock-delight. “That's sorted. Are you both free tonight?” Killian replied in the affirmative and Emma nodded dumbly. “Good, Killian you can pick Emma up at seven outside here and now we can all go back to work without a cloud of unresolved sexual tension getting in everyone's way!”

The café erupted in spontaneous applause -Emma hadn't even noticed they were watching this drama avidly from behind their sandwiches and cups of tea- Regina gave them a low bow and strode off, meddling in Emma's life and matchmaking apparently done for the day. Emma scuttled back into the kitchen, pressing her back against the wall with her mouth still hanging open, her finger still seeping blood.

_What just happened?_

-X-

 

Emma reaches back behind her to grab Killian's hand the next day when they do the walk of shame down the staircase into Henry's. They slept in and Regina might crucify her for that but quite frankly after the night of bliss she's had, Emma could not give a damn. He squeezes back and Emma smiles even though he can't see it.

Regina and Ruby are standing behind the counter expectantly, arms both folded like some modern high-heeled take on the Inquisition. Regina smirks and holds her hand out to Ruby, who gives Emma a dirty look and deposits twenty dollars into Regina's palm having apparently just lost some bet that Emma definitely does not want to know the terms of.

Emma kisses Killian for an extra long time on the doorstep, partly to piss Regina and Ruby off but largely because she really really wants to.

 

**fin.**

 

 


End file.
